Roses and Moonlight
by Morfiwien Greenleaf
Summary: Harold Hill has established his music emporium and purchased his house - all that's left to do is propose to Marian Paroo! But Harold finds himself hesitating...
1. The Perils of Conscience

Sometimes, Harold Hill hated this newfound conscience of his.

It was the beginning of October – almost three months had passed since the music professor's arrival to River City – and everything was turning out beautifully for him. On the last day of August, he had triumphantly led the River City boys' band in a big parade down Main Street. Their enthusiastic performance of _Seventy Six Trombones_, followed by a stirring rendition of John Philip Sousa's _Stars and Stripes Forever_, put to rest any lingering questions about whether the Think System had merit. The morning after the parade, Harold posted his application to the U.S. Patent Office, and it wasn't long before students started enrolling at his music emporium in droves.

Even though his business was still in its early stages, Harold was so confident the music emporium would provide a steady source of income that he moved into the next phase of his plans: purchasing a house. There was a charming little Victorian on East Pine Street that he knew Marian admired and, as the house was located a short walk from the Paroo home, Harold snapped it up as soon as he had verified it was still on the market.

Harold had to marvel at the speed with which he had achieved his aims; in the space of two months, he had established a promising business and acquired a beautiful home. Now that he had laid his solid foundation for a legitimate, respectable existence, he could finally realize the dream he'd had ever since the night he decided to stay in River City: asking Marian to share a life with him.

But when it came to this item on his to-do list, Harold hesitated. Even though everything he had done since staying in town was centered on ensuring his future with Marian, he found himself looking for reasons to delay asking her the crucial question: his home wasn't properly decorated, his business was still in its fledgling stages, his schedule was already jam-packed with projects for the next several months. Though he had always planned on marrying Marian, the idea of going through with the actual proposal turned out to be more daunting than he thought. Marriage was a big step; though there was no question that he loved her and she him, they hadn't known each other for more than a few months. So for the time being, Harold was pleased to enjoy Marian's companionship as her friend and beau and, to his relief, she seemed just as content with the current state of their relationship.

But Harold knew the townspeople were growing impatient. Normally, that wouldn't have bothered him, but now that he had become a full-fledged River City-zien, he was discovering it wasn't always so easy to dismiss such considerations. On the day of the parade, when Harold beheld Marian approaching to take her place by his side, he suddenly realized the gravity of the situation into which he had gotten himself.

Marian, as usual, was a charming vision to behold. Harold's heart beat faster as he saw her coming to meet him; she had worn the ensemble he requested, and she looked lovely. Though Marian gazed only at him, he knew the buoyant skip in her step and the joy in her eyes were evident to all who were watching. And he was also aware that everyone could see the same delight radiating from his own countenance. Not that he had any particular wish to hide his feelings – by then, it was common knowledge that the two of them had come to an understanding – but this was the first time they had unequivocally demonstrated the seriousness of their relationship to the entire town. And the River City-ziens seemed to approve of this union: They cheerfully returned the couple's smiles and waves, and shouted their greetings in hearty voices as the parade passed by.

Oddly, Harold found the townspeople's endorsement more unsettling than he would have their condemnation. Even though Marian remained innocently unaware of what their behavior indicated – he saw from her beaming expression that she adored this outpouring of friendship and approbation – he realized the townspeople would expect to hear news of their engagement in the near future. Indeed, from that day on, the town rumor mill began buzzing about the music professor's and librarian's assumed, upcoming nuptials.

And once Harold had bought his house, the talk only increased. He knew he couldn't vacillate indefinitely; the longer he put things off, the more his and Marian's reputations would suffer. But as much as Harold loved his dear librarian, he wasn't sure he was ready to be tied down just yet.

But at the same time, Harold wanted Marian. Not just physically; he was also captivated by their growing friendship. Most days, it was enough to simply spend an hour or two in her company, sharing conversation laced with the occasional, often flirtatious repartee. Even though he'd had his doubts – especially after the passionate kiss they shared on the footbridge the evening he drove Miss Harper out of town – Harold had found it surprisingly easy to curb his ardor. Though he wouldn't hesitate to plant a kiss or two on Marian's lips if no one was looking, he had for the most part remained on his best behavior when in her company. When the two of them were alone together in the music emporium – as happened rather often when they were in the final stages of preparing for an event – Harold was courteous and respectful of Marian as he was of any of his students. And even though he did allow himself the luxury of taking her on a clandestine stroll to the footbridge every week or two, Harold always made sure they never stayed away for more than an hour.

But Harold was beginning to find all this restraint rather galling. He had been reduced to the level of a of youth partaking in his first romantic experience and, for a man who was used to more adult relationships, this kind of existence quickly became stultifying. It didn't help matters that the intensity of his longing for Marian was deepening as time passed; some days, it was all Harold could do to prevent himself from taking her in his arms and covering every inch of her with kisses.

Still, he wasn't about to propose to Marian simply to satisfy his lust; it wouldn't have been fair to either of them. And as tempting as the idea was, Harold refused to press his advantage – he had long ago promised he would never do anything to dull the pristine sparkle in Marian's eyes and smile, and that was one promise he intended to keep. But sometimes – especially when they were alone together at the footbridge – he came perilously close to breaking this vow.

Still, even in the heat of the moment, full-scale seduction of Marian was an option Harold refused to consider. Unfortunately, his conscience – that damn conscience! – wouldn't let him proceed with offering a marriage proposal, either.

So as of October third – exactly three months since he had first come to town – things remained in limbo as Harold pondered what would be his best course of action.


	2. The Curies of the Music World

October third dawned fair and fine, and Harold decided a suitable-enough interval had passed since he last invited Marian for a clandestine stroll to the footbridge. After the conclusion of the boys' band's rehearsal that afternoon, Harold gave Davey a volume of Wordsworth's poems and asked the lad if he would drop it off at the library on his way home. A casual observer wouldn't have noticed anything out of the ordinary about this errand, but Harold knew Marian would see the scrap of paper he had tucked between the pages where began the poem entitled, _An Evening Walk Addressed to a Young Lady_ – as well as the small _8?_ he had scrawled on the impromptu bookmark in black ink.

When Tommy Djilas arrived at the music emporium an hour later, he had with him a book of Emily Dickinson poems for the music professor. As soon as Harold got Tommy settled with some business, he eagerly scanned the volume for Marian's response. Flipping through the pages, he located his scrap resting on the poem, _The day came slow, till five o'clock_. A circle made in pencil now surrounded the _8_ on the paper.

XXX

When Harold entered the front gate of the Paroo home and beheld Marian waiting for him on the front porch, he thought for a moment he had stepped back in time. The unseasonably warm weather had persisted into the evening, and the librarian was clad in the fetching red dress Harold had only seen her wear once before: that fateful night of July twenty-third.

Harold halted, arrested by the sight of Marian. He had forgotten how alluring she was in that gown, with its low neckline and unapologetically scarlet hue. Marian always took extra pains with her ensemble when he invited her to the footbridge, but she had never worn anything so boldly provocative. As Harold's gaze fell upon the tantalizing outline of her bare arms and shoulders – visible courtesy of the sheer fabric of the gown's sleeves – his heart began to pound.

Instead of shyly turning away, as she had that night, Marian came over to him with a beaming smile. "Harold, do you remember Mr. Gallup from the _Des Moines Register and Leader_ who attended the parade back in August?"

Her question brought an abrupt end to Harold's reverie. "You mean that mealy-mouthed reporter who couldn't keep his eyes off you?" He meant to say this teasingly, but the effect was spoiled by the peevish note in his voice.

A delicate blush suffused Marian's cheeks, and he saw her suppress a smile. "Harold, everyone was watching us."

"That they were," he wryly concurred. "So, what about Mr. Gallup from Des Moines? He said he was going to do a feature on the Think System and the music emporium, and would forward me a copy of the paper when the article appeared. But after that day, I never heard a thing from him. I even sent a letter of inquiry the following week, but still nothing." Harold chuckled. "I assume his editors must have told him River City and its doings weren't important enough for the high-and-mighty _Register and Leader_."

"I wondered if that was the case, myself," Marian confessed. "So I wrote to him last week."

Harold's eyes widened. "You what?"

Her blush deepened. "I had to find out – the music emporium could use the publicity, Harold. And Mr. Gallup did have the courtesy to respond to my letter immediately – "

"I'll bet," he muttered.

" – He said the article came out a few weeks ago. He expressed his deepest apologies for the oversight, and said he would make amends without delay." Marian gave Harold a sly smile. "And just today, a bundle of the September eighth edition of the _Des Moines Register and Leader_ arrived on the afternoon train."

Harold couldn't help smiling; he found it flattering and endearing that she had used her feminine wiles on his behalf. "Well done, Madam Librarian," he said, impressed. "And what did you do with this bundle of newspapers?"

"I didn't have to do anything; the majority of them had been snapped up by the time I got to the post office," she replied. "I did manage to snag a copy or two, though. I thought perhaps we could have one framed and put up in your office at the music emporium."

As pleased as he was that the _Register and Leader_ had done a feature, Harold was reticent to commit to such a course of action just yet. "May I see the article?"

"Oh – of course! How foolish of me to forget," she said ruefully. Fetching the newspaper that was lying on the rocking chair, she handed it to him. "The article's on page six."

Harold opened the paper.

'_Someday reading music will be absolutely obsolete!'  
MUSIC PROFESSOR PIONEERS REVOLUTIONARY 'THINK SYSTEM'_

_In the sleepy little hamlet of River City, Iowa, cacophony is a common occurrence. As one enters Professor Harold Hill's Music Emporium, one can hear the shrill wailing of trumpets, the dissonant squawk of French horns, the bleak groaning of tubas and the disjointed pounding of drums. Though such disharmony might make the music teachers of the world tremble, it is simply part of the process as bombastic music professor Harold Hill transforms the tone-deaf sons of farmers into concert virtuosos through his revolutionary new training program, the Think System._

Harold grinned. _Not bad_, he thought. _Perhaps I've misjudged Mr. Gallup_…

But his good humor fled when he got to the end of the article:

_But what is the secret to Professor Hill's astounding success? Perhaps some credit belongs to his charming assistant, Miss Marian Paroo, whose traditional musical background provides a firm anchor to what would otherwise be a pie-in-the-sky theory. The professor himself declares that Miss Paroo's work has been instrumental to the development of the Think System. This stands to reason; just as Professor Pierre had his Madame Marie, the music professor has his faithful companion and aide. It was a privilege and an honor to meet the Curies of the music world, and we look forward to seeing what kind of parades they will lead in the future._

"How charming," Harold said nonchalantly, though inside he was seething. Just what he needed – some big-shot reporter from Des Moines stirring the pot! Harold knew the scandalmongers would be all atwitter after they read that part of the article; the Curies were so world famous that even the denizens of a "sleepy little hamlet" like River City would have heard of them.

Still, Harold grinned when he looked at Marian. Despite his annoyance, he could never resist teasing her: "Well, what did _you_ think of the article – Madame Curie?"

The librarian rolled her eyes. "Oh, that line was so overblown, wasn't it?" she said with a laugh. "Those silly reporters always embellish things."

Though Marian had demurred, it was plain to see from her shining eyes and coy smile that she was delighted by the allusion. So Harold chose his next words with care: "Oh now, Miss Marian, you mustn't diminish the importance of your own role in this endeavor. Mr. Gallup was right – if it weren't for your encouragement and support, I wouldn't have succeeded." He winked at her. "And who knows? Perhaps someday we'll be a household name just as much as the Curies."

Harold thought he had hit upon the perfect response: flattering, yet noncommittal. But Marian smiled wistfully, as if she were aware of his ulterior motive. "I have no doubt _you'll_ be a household name someday, Harold," she said quietly.

Harold was only stymied for a moment. "Well, I think we ought to celebrate; this is the start of big things for the music emporium! Why don't we head to the Candy Kitchen?" he asked, offering her his arm.

Marian hesitated.

He gazed at her with concern. "What is it?"

For a moment, the librarian looked uncertain as to how she should respond to his question. "I'd have to change first," she finally replied, blushing crimson as her gown.

With a sense of regret, Harold realized Marian was right. It was one thing for her to wear that scarlet gown when she was entertaining him on her front porch or taking a clandestine stroll to the footbridge – but quite another for her to go parading about town in his company while she was thus clothed. His heart started to beat faster as he was again reminded that the significance of wearing such an alluring dress would not have been lost even on a woman as innocent as Marian – clearly, she had anticipated they would be engaged in activities that demanded a bit more privacy…

"I'll wait," Harold told her, before his thoughts veered too far into dangerous territory.

XXX

Harold had just managed to quash the last of his untoward impulses when Marian's reemergence from the house set him off again. She had changed into that smart blue-and-white ensemble of hers, and looked just as fetching as she had in her scarlet gown. He repressed a sigh. It didn't matter what Marian wore; she could have come out in a burlap sack, and it would have sent his pulse racing.

When he didn't say anything, Marian gave a subtle nod toward the route that led to the Candy Kitchen. "Shall we, Professor Hill?"

Harold grinned as if nothing was amiss. "Of course, Madam Librarian."


	3. River City's Newest Fiancée

As they made their way to the Candy Kitchen, Harold started to discourse at length about various subjects. Normally, he enjoyed the quiet pauses that occasionally arose during his strolls with Marian, but tonight he had the distinct feeling he'd be at a disadvantage if he let the silence between them drag on.

To Harold's delight, Marian responded to his statements with friendly challenges and teasing barbs, and what had started out as a rather one-sided monologue soon became an authentic conversation. In fact, their banter seemed to have an extra piquancy and verve this particular evening; caught up as he was in verbally tangoing with Marian, Harold forgot all about the article, Mr. Gallup and everything else that had been troubling him. By the time they reached the Candy Kitchen, he had fully regained his enthusiasm and good humor.

As always when they entered the establishment, Marian paused and waited for Harold to determine where they would sit. Intent on continuing their discussion away from prying eyes, he escorted her to the smallest, most out-of-the-way table he could find.

Not only was this fact not lost on Marian, she had the audacity to tease him about it: "If I had known we were going to be sitting in such a cramped corner, I wouldn't have worn this hat."

Harold regarded her with intrigued eyes. First the scarlet gown, then the sparkling repartee, now the unabashed flirtatiousness – Marian certainly was in a provocative mood this evening! "Your ensemble does create a rather cumbersome barrier – especially in these close quarters," he agreed, giving her a roguish wink. "Perhaps you shouldn't have changed out of that red dress of yours… "

He expected her to fire back another scathing yet enticing retort, but it seemed Marian had finally lost her nerve; she flushed crimson and fell silent.

Harold immediately contrived to put her at ease. "Of course, I always thought blue suited you better," he said kindly.

With a shy, grateful smile, Marian dipped her head to take a sip of her strawberry phosphate, the brim of her hat blocking her eyes from his view. When she raised her head and met his gaze again, Harold was enchanted. It was amazing what a woman could do to a man with the tilt of her head when she was wearing a hat. He might just have to take Marian to the footbridge after all, once they finished their strawberry phosphates. The evening was still young…

Just as Harold was about to suggest they find a better place to talk, several titters and gasps erupted from behind him. Turning at the commotion, Harold saw Mrs. Shinn, Mrs. Squires, Mrs. Hix, Mrs. Dunlop and Mrs. Grubb ranged around a beaming Ethel Toffelmier. A sinking feeling developed in the pit of his stomach – and his suspicions were confirmed when Miss Toffelmier raised her left hand to better display the diamond solitaire on her ring finger.

"He asked me just this afternoon," she informed the ladies.

"Well, it's about time!" Mrs. Squires asserted, and the other ladies nodded their agreement. "He's been keeping you waiting for what – almost ten months, now?"

Ethel's cheeks crimsoned. "He said he wanted to save up for a proper ring."

"Where did he get that ring?" Mrs. Dunlop asked curiously. "I never saw anything like it in River City's jewelry shop!"

Ethel modestly lowered her lashes over her eyes, but Harold noted the gleam of pride in her smile. "It was specially ordered – all the way from Des Moines!"

Once again, the ladies erupted into gasps, and Harold could discern no further information in the high-pitched cooing that followed. He repressed a scowl as he watched them all twitter and chatter to each other. _Way to show up your old partner, Marce_, he thought grimly.

It wouldn't do to stare too much longer, as he'd draw attention to his presence – and that was the last thing Harold wanted to do at the moment. After making sure his expression displayed the appropriate amount of polite interest mingled with delight, Harold turned back to Marian.

But she wasn't even looking at him. The librarian's gaze was fixed on Ethel, and Harold saw the unabashed longing in her eyes. As he watched Marian, Harold started to feel like a perfect cad – here he had been, scheming to spirit her off to the footbridge and risk her reputation yet again, without having the decency to make her any promises.

So when Marian finally faced him, Harold fought his inclination to change the subject or fill the silence and waited, chastened, to hear whatever it was she had to say.

But the librarian only gave him a benign smile. "Wonderful news, isn't it, Harold? I shall have to congratulate Miss Toffelmier when we next meet."

Harold raised an eyebrow. "Why not go over there right now?"

"She's already got quite a crowd gathered around her, and I should really get going," Marian said ruefully. "Tomorrow promises to be quite busy – we have to start looking at music for the Christmas concert, remember?"

Harold nodded. "May I see you home?" he asked demurely.

"Of course," she replied, her manner just as serene.

On their walk back to West Elm, it was Marian who kept up a steady flow of idle chatter. Out of gratitude for her forbearance, Harold returned her smiles and engaged in repartee when the situation called for it – all the while wondering just what it was she saw in a scoundrel like him.

Finally, they reached Marian's front gate. Harold had been planning to limit his goodnight to a gentlemanly clasp of the hand, but when she turned and started to walk up the front steps, he was seized by the impulse to go after her. In his mind, a cool, rational voice warned him it was best to leave things be. But his heart demanded satisfaction; after everything Marian had done to defuse the awkward situations that arose during the course of the evening, he couldn't let her go without telling her just how much she meant to him. Against his better judgment, Harold followed her.

Marian immediately turned when he laid his hand on her arm. Her eyes lit up, as if she had been hoping for him to come to her like this. "Yes, Harold?" she asked, sounding slightly breathless.

Harold couldn't speak. He suddenly realized it would sound too crass to put his feelings into words. What could he say: _Thank you for stifling your longing as you wait so patiently for your recalcitrant lover to make up his mind?_ Once again, Harold had rushed into a situation before fully thinking it over. He should never have entered her front gate.

But Marian was looking expectantly at him; Harold had to say something. Casting a glance around the porch, he saw the _Des Moines Register and Leader_ lying on the rocking chair. "Marian – I'd love to have that article framed for my office."

_Oh, well played_, the cool, rational voice said sarcastically. _You're the man who successfully swindled the great state of Illinois and several other states east of the Mississippi – and that's the best line you could come up with?_

Unsurprisingly, the librarian looked disappointed to hear such a banal statement from her usually eloquent paramour. But she smiled at him anyway. "I'll see to it first thing tomorrow," she promised.

With her usual poise and decorum, Marian had restored his opportunity to make a graceful farewell. But Harold still couldn't bring himself to leave. Surrendering to temptation, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her sweetly, tenderly. Everything he wanted to tell her but couldn't find the words for, he put into that kiss. It wasn't long before Marian's arms came up to meet his, her hands gently resting on the sides of his elbows. Her touch was light at first, but then her grip tightened, and Harold had to stop himself from pulling her closer and deepening their kiss into something more intense. But as gentle as their embrace remained, he felt Marian start to tremble with longing. And she wasn't the only one who was affected; even after Harold finally let go of her, the shivering sensation wouldn't subside.

_Love has made you just as addle-pated as the fools you used to con, Harold Hill_, his mind reproached. But as Harold gave his dear librarian a final smile and farewell, he was no longer paying any attention to what that particular voice said. Marian's eyes glowed with the happy radiance he loved to see, and – for the time being – his heart was content.


	4. Crossing the Line

Rehearsal of the boys' band having concluded for the afternoon, Harold was in his office handling some paperwork when he heard a soft knock at the door.

He grinned. "Come in, Madame Curie," he called out playfully, turning to face the librarian as she entered the room.

Marian looked at him with stricken eyes.

Harold's smile disappeared. "Darling, I was only teasing," he said contritely.

"It's not that," she replied, taking out a handkerchief and pressing it to the corners of her eyes. "It's just – today's the anniversary of my father's passing."

"I thought Winthrop seemed a little subdued at rehearsal," Harold mused. He regarded the librarian with a gentle smile. "Would you like to take a raincheck for this afternoon? We can look at music for the Christmas concert another time."

Marian shook her head. "No, Mama says it's best if we carry on with our lives – that's what Papa would have wanted. She's right, of course, but" – her tears started to fall faster – "I miss him so much."

"Oh, darling," Harold said sympathetically. If anything undid him, it was the sight of his beloved in tears. Without even thinking about it, he broke his cardinal rule of maintaining an appropriate distance when they were alone together in the music emporium, and took her in his arms.

When Marian had finally cried herself out, she lifted her head from his shoulder. Her eyes widened when she saw the sodden fabric of his suit-coat. "Harold, I'm so sorry!"

Harold chuckled. "It's only water, darling. It'll dry eventually."

But she frowned. "Papa once had the loveliest silk dinner jacket that I ruined in a similar manner – though I was only six at the time, and didn't know any better." She slipped her hand inside Harold's suit-coat to assess the extent of the soaking. "I do hope I didn't leave a permanent stain. This green jacket of yours was always one of my favorites."

Harold's heart skipped a palpitation or two at this most intimate of gestures. He willed himself not to respond to her touch – he didn't want to frighten Marian, as she had innocently committed this act out of genuine love and concern – but when their eyes met, he couldn't mask the desire in his gaze.

Marian immediately pulled her hand away and moved to a more respectable distance. "Forgive me," she stammered, mortified. "I should have thought… "

"Darling, it's all right," he reassured her. "And don't worry about this old thing; it's seen a lot of wear and tear in its day."

A spark of curiosity lit up her eyes, as always happened when he alluded to his past. "How long have you had that coat, Harold?"

Harold gave her a mischievous grin. "How long have you had your brother?"

He was gratified to see that his ploy to lighten her mood had succeeded; Marian laughed and gently swatted his arm. "You can't be serious! That suit-coat would be in tatters, by now – especially given the life you must have led in it."

Normally, Harold would have fired back another lighthearted retort, but her choice of words made him pause. Even in jest, she was reminding him that she still knew virtually nothing about his past. He had told her bits and pieces of things, but he always spoke vaguely, and was quick to turn the conversation to other matters.

Marian also paused, and gazed at him with a thoughtful expression. "Harold – do you ever miss your parents?"

Harold stiffened. He knew the day would come when she would start to ask questions, but he was still reticent to discuss such topics in detail. "Not everyone was fortunate to have such a loving family as you, Miss Marian," he said, deliberately making his tone a touch cool in the hope she would display her usual tact and change the subject.

But it seemed she was in an inquisitive mood. "Well, what about your mother?"

"What about my mother?" Harold asked, hiding his surprise. He had not once referenced her in any of their conversations; how could Marian have known?

The librarian hesitated, but then a firmness took hold of her expression. Harold had seen that look before, when she had been determined to destroy his credibility – he knew she was prepared to press on until she had achieved satisfaction. "Ethel Toffelmier mentioned you were devoted to your mother."

Harold immediately went on the offensive. "I thought you knew better than to listen to idle gossip – especially considering your own experience, Miss Marian."

He saw from the hurt look in her eyes that he had discomfited her, but she wasn't stymied for long. "It wasn't idle gossip. Mr. Washburn told Miss Toffelmier that until you met me, the only woman you showed such devotion to was your mother. Miss Toffelmier kindly related this piece of information when we were in the kitchen that day you were busy laughing it up with Miss Harper at the Events Committee meeting – she was only trying to cheer me up."

Harold wasn't too pleased to hear Marcellus was telling stories about him to Ethel Toffelmier. "And what other 'pieces of information' did Miss Toffelmier 'kindly relate'?"

Marian's frown deepened. "Not a thing. You're so skilled at being evasive that not even your own partner in crime was certain of his knowledge of your prior history – at least, that's the impression I took away from that conversation."

"Good," he said tersely. "My prior history is nobody's business but my own."

At his brusque dismissal, her shoulders slumped, and she sighed. "Harold, I'm not asking these questions out of idle curiosity. I'm asking because your past is starting to become a wall between us. Almost every day, we seem to stumble upon another subject that we cannot talk about, because it stirs some ancient memory." She gazed entreatingly at him. "How can we have any sort of relationship if you won't let me into your heart?"

"Won't let you into my heart?" Harold exclaimed, incredulous. "Marian – a single word or even just a look from you affects me deeper than a physical blow. Because of you, I have a permanent address and a legitimate business. Everything I do now is centered on you; consideration of your needs guides my every action. What more proof of my love and regard do you need?"

Marian took a step closer. "I want to know you, Harold… to truly know you. I understand your past isn't savory; I came to terms with that fact a long time ago."

"Well, they aren't stories fit for a maid's ears," he said sullenly.

"Perhaps not," the librarian conceded. She gave him a piercing look. "But how about a friend's?"

At that, Harold almost lost his temper. No matter what he said, Marian always had a response. And once again, she had rendered him speechless – he could find no retort. As he looked into her eyes, he was struck by the sensation that he wanted to knock that self-assured gleam out of them.

"A friend, Madam Librarian?" Harold asked, raising an eyebrow. With an impish grin, he approached her. At first, Marian shyly backed away, but it wasn't long before the wall arrested her retreat. Once Harold had her cornered, he let his smile fade into a smoldering expression. "I thought we were a little more than that, Miss Marian," he said in a low voice, his face inches from hers.

Harold had achieved his aim; Marian looked flustered and apprehensive. Both his mind and heart were urging him to back off, but he had become ensnared in his own trap: Intoxicated by her nearness, he cupped her cheek in his hand. "I hope we're more than that," he said earnestly.

When Marian closed her eyes and tilted her head into his caress, Harold took this as an invitation to proceed further. But alluring as those crimson lips of hers were, he didn't dare kiss them – he knew he wouldn't be able to keep things from getting too heated. Instead, Harold let his fingers trace a delicate line from her cheekbones to her throat. As he moved downward, he tugged the collar of her high-necked gown lower.

Marian gasped and opened her eyes. "Harold… "

But even as she protested, he could see the dreamy haze stealing into her expression and rendering her speechless as he lightly stroked the side of her neck with his thumb. As her eyes closed again, Harold's gaze wandered back down to her throat. Unable to resist the sight of such gleaming, pristine skin, he leaned in and brushed his lips against the throbbing vein in her slender neck.

Marian gasped again, and Harold felt her pulse start to race even faster. When he pressed his mouth harder, her breathing sharpened and increased in its intensity. Harold had often wondered what Marian would sound like in the midst of passion, and was so mesmerized by this tantalizing preview that he continued his ministrations, hoping to turn those gasps into full-fledged moaning.

It wasn't until Marian gave a cry of pain that his conscience reasserted itself; horrified by his indiscretion, Harold immediately pulled away. But it was too late: Marian's delicate neck was now marred by a bow-shaped welt. Inwardly cursing himself for his lack of self-control, he raised her collar to its proper height and carefully smoothed the creases out of the fabric – as if this simple gesture could permanently conceal his misdeed.

As they stared breathlessly at each other, Marian gingerly reached into her collar. When her fingers discovered the mark he had made, a myriad of emotions clouded her countenance – shock, dismay, shame, fury. She started to tremble, and her eyes grew wet with tears.

Harold shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry."

Marian raised her hand and delivered a sharp, stinging slap to his face.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

She still didn't speak, but there was no mistaking the cold reproach in her eyes. Before Harold could say another word, Marian turned and left.


	5. Another Crossroads

Harold Hill had been slapped across the face before, but it had never hurt like this. When Marian looked at him with those heartbroken eyes, he felt lower than he ever had in his entire life – and there was a lot he regretted, now that he had a proper conscience. Three months of carefully and cautiously building a relationship with the woman he loved – and in the space of an afternoon, through one foolish act, he had lost her.

Once Marian had gone, Harold mechanically returned to his desk and sat down. There was nothing he could do at present; she'd need time to recover before she would be receptive to his making amends. Until then, it would be best to turn his mind to the tasks of managing his business or, failing that, his residence.

But all Harold could do was stare dumbly at the paperwork in front of him. The music emporium, the charming Victorian – it all seemed meaningless, now. Rousing himself from his stupor, he looked at the clock on his desk. Two hours had passed; Marian would have arrived home long ago. A sad tableau came to his mind of the librarian sitting in front of her mirror, clothed in a dressing gown, gazing with tear-filled eyes at the mark on her neck and gently assessing the damage with her fingertips…

Harold sighed. How could he even begin to make up for what he had done? He was not a man to indulge in idle self-pity or carve an A into his chest in guilty solidarity. Like everything else he did, his atonement would have to be useful. Certainly, he could apologize, but that still didn't feel like enough. Perhaps he could grovel at Marian's feet…

_Or maybe_, said a quiet voice, _you could ask her what she wants you to do, before you rush off and make your own plans._

But Marian had already told him what she wanted. Her words kept running through his mind:

"_I want to know you, Harold… to truly know you. I understand your past isn't savory; I came to terms with that fact a long time ago."_

It was the one thing he couldn't give her.

XXX

It was nine o'clock when Harold finally left the music emporium. But as late as it was, he didn't go directly home. Somehow, being behind four walls and under a roof seemed too much like prison. So he meandered around town, taking no particular direction, except to select routes where he knew he was less likely to come into contact with anyone. He didn't feel much like engaging in conversation or exchanging superficial pleasantries.

Eventually, Harold found himself at the freight depot. It was the first time he'd been to the station since he arrived in town at the beginning of July, and he felt a sense of nostalgia. He had always loved trains, ever since he was a little boy. They were perpetually in motion, always going somewhere – just like him. Sometimes he missed that sense of constant movement, of new adventures waiting around the next bend in the tracks.

Since it was now past ten, there weren't many trains entering or departing town. But Harold was content to stare at the empty tracks. They led to places bigger than River City – places where a man could get a drink whenever he damn well pleased (the temperance people had sewn up River City years ago) and take the woman he loved for a stroll without anyone batting an eye. Too bad he hadn't met Marian in Chicago, or even Des Moines. Perhaps someday he would take her to one of those cities…

_If she forgives you_, his cool, rational voice said slyly. _There's a good chance she won't. And without her, what good is it sticking around this sad little place?_

Harold frowned; the thought of putting all this behind him held a lot more allure than he cared to admit. "Haven't you done enough?" he muttered.

"Talking to yourself?" asked a voice.

Harold turned. Marcellus gave him a friendly nod as he approached. "Evening, Greg."

Harold forced his somber countenance into a cheerful grin. "Well, if it isn't the fiancé! I suppose I should congratulate you – never thought a slicker like you would settle down. But what are you doing around here?"

"Sometimes, I like the peace and quiet," Marcellus said simply.

Harold nodded; it was a sentiment he could understand perfectly. For awhile, both men looked straight ahead, each absorbed in his own thoughts. But then the music professor turned to his old comrade.

"Marce, what made you decide to ask her?"

Marcellus shrugged. "A man's got to take the plunge at some point."

"Oh," Harold replied, disappointed. He knew Marcellus was a practical, unsentimental fellow, but he had been hoping for an answer that was a little more meaningful than that.

Marcellus raised an eyebrow at him. "Been thinking of doing a little proposing, yourself?"

"That's one idea," Harold said evasively, turning his gaze to the empty tracks again.

His former shill gave him an appraising look. "We're lucky, you and me. Especially you – you got a good thing going, Greg. Most men don't make it out of the business so smoothly. A lot of my old partners ended up in jail – or dead."

"I'm not planning to jump on a train, if that's what you're implying," Harold replied, rolling his eyes. "But I'm not about to rush into something just because" – here he had to stop himself before he revealed too much – "everyone else thinks I should. I've been a bachelor for my whole life – and so have you, in point of fact! You can't tell me that you didn't feel at least a little uneasy at the prospect of losing your independence."

"Oh, sure," Marcellus freely admitted. "I still do."

Harold gaped at his old comrade. "Then why – "

Marcellus looked squarely at him. "I'll tell you the plain truth: I could get along without Ethel, but I don't want to."

On the surface, this statement seemed glib, almost absurd. It certainly wasn't something out of a great romance; Harold could only imagine what Miss Toffelmier's reaction would have been, should she have heard those words from her lover's lips. But there was an unusual depth of emotion in Marcellus' eyes that left the former conman in awe. "You really do love her, don't you, Marce?"

Marcellus sighed. "Greg, if it weren't for her, I'd probably be lying in a ditch somewhere."

Suddenly, those tracks didn't look as appealing as they had before. But when his old comrade returned to town, Harold remained at the freight depot, thinking about things.

XXX

One week later, Harold sent Davey to the library to return the volume of Emily Dickinson poetry. He bookmarked the following poem:

_Remorse is memory awake,  
Her companies astir,—  
A presence of departed acts  
At window and at door._

_Its past set down before the soul,  
And lighted with a match,  
Perusal to facilitate  
Of its condensed despatch._

_Remorse is cureless,—the disease  
Not even God can heal;  
For 't is His institution,—  
The complement of hell._

On the scrap paper, Harold wrote nothing.

XXX

An hour later, there was a knock on Harold's office door. Figuring it would be one of his students with a book for him – and being extremely eager to receive the librarian's response – he got up and went to open the door himself.

Clothed in the same green-and-gold gown she had been wearing that summer evening Harold loudly proclaimed his love for her in the library, Marian Paroo stood before him.


	6. Harold's Confession

At first, Harold was too stunned to speak. He wasn't sure what to make of Marian's arrival to the emporium; she had never responded to one of his communiqués in such a forthright manner. And for her to come here alone, after what had happened before, was unthinkable. The silence stretched, and Harold knew he should say something, but he couldn't bring himself to talk. He hadn't had so much as a glimpse of Marian for a solid week; he couldn't help allowing himself the luxury of simply looking at her. Though he noted with relief that the mark on her neck had disappeared, he was dismayed but not surprised to see that, when their eyes met, Marian's expression was as aloof as her bearing.

"Good afternoon, Professor Hill," she said coolly, as though they were little more than casual acquaintances.

Harold stepped out of his office and closed the door behind him. "Marian, I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am. My behavior was inexcusable – the act of a coward and a scoundrel. Although I can promise you that it will never happen again, I know there's no making up for what I did. But I hope that, someday, you'll be able to forgive me."

She dropped her gaze to her hands, which were folded in front of her. "I _do_ forgive you, Professor Hill… and I wanted to apologize to you, as well."

Count on Marian to derail his train of thought; Harold completely lost track of what he was going to say. "You wanted to apologize to _me_?" he asked, flabbergasted. "What on earth do you have to apologize for?"

Her hands unfolded briefly to smooth out a wrinkle in the fabric of her skirt. "I've been doing a lot of thinking… and it occurs to me that I've been selfish."

"Never," he avowed. "I've never met anyone more unselfish – sometimes I've even thought you're a little too generous for your own good."

Marian still wouldn't look at him. "Professor Hill… I don't think we should march in any more parades together."

Her words knocked the wind out of him better than any physical blow could have; Harold had to put a hand on the door jamb to steady himself. "What? What are you saying?"

The librarian met his gaze again, and he saw a pained look in her eyes. "I'm saying that perhaps it might be best if we kept things strictly cordial between us."

Her hands were beginning to tremble; instinctively, Harold reached out for them, but caught himself just in time. "Marian, I love you," he entreated.

She looked stricken. "Harold, please don't make this any harder than it already is."

Even as Harold gazed at her with pleading eyes, frantically trying to think of something – anything! – he could say to get her to change her mind, he marveled at her selflessness. After everything that had happened between them, Marian made no demands of him. Though her reputation and happiness would be destroyed, she was letting him go. And since he could not in good faith make her any promises, Harold figured he should have the decency to show her the same courtesy.

"If you feel this is the best course of action, then I will respect your wishes," he said despondently. "But before you go, I wanted you to know that I didn't contact you simply to apologize. I wanted to tell you something – something I should have told you when you asked me about my parents."

That spark of curiosity lit up Marian's eyes again, but she swiftly quelled it. "Oh, please don't feel you have to tell me anything," she demurred. "I shouldn't have interrogated you like that. You're right – your past history is no one's business but your own, and I had no right to try to badger it out of you. Impatience got the better of me, and I regret it."

Harold shook his head – he hadn't wrestled with himself over the past several nights to abandon his resolve now. "You freely and gladly gave your heart to me. And because I cemented that compact by giving you my own, you deserve to know the truth." He took a deep breath. "With my silver tongue, I sent my own father to his death."

Marian gasped. "What?"

"My father, reprobate though he was, was a charming man," Harold said grimly. "My mother was a daughter of Newport, Rhode Island's blue blood – but she gladly abandoned her life of parties and wealth to marry my father. Not that he was poor – he made a good living as the proprietor of an inn, and my early childhood was actually quite comfortable. But my mother's relatives were horrified she married a man who worked for a living, and so they ostracized her.

"My mother certainly loved my father and, to his credit, he seemed to love her. But he could never stay for long. He'd drink, he'd philander – and then, when he'd spent all the money we had, he'd leave. When he returned, the two of them would have a few nice months together before he started his habits all over again, and abandoned us. Each time this happened, we'd be a little worse off than before. We wouldn't see him again for a year or two – just long enough to start rebuilding what he had destroyed. Then one day, out of the blue, he would come home again, promising he was a changed man. 'The prodigal husband has returned!' he'd cry. And my mother let him in. Every damn time, she let him in. No matter how much he'd broken her heart, no matter how much his exploits had ruined our reputation, she'd let him in."

Harold stopped and gazed at Marian, who looked scandalized by such behavior. "Now, you mustn't judge my mother too harshly, Miss Marian. There was never a kinder, gentler woman than her. She was one of those trusting, naïve souls that makes your heart ache for them; the world isn't kind to people like her. And my father could be extremely persuasive.

"When he left for the fifth time, we were in so much debt that we lost our home. My mother was too embarrassed to return to her relatives in Rhode Island, so we went to the Adirondacks to stay with an eccentric uncle of hers, who had also rejected a life of idle luxury in favor of marrying whom he pleased. When we moved, I was around Winthrop's age. There wasn't a lot up there for a boy to do except cause trouble; I'm sad to say I added to my mother's burdens during those years. But she always forgave me, no matter what; and I loved her fiercely. And the new surroundings were a fresh start for my mother. The neighbors knew nothing of our past history, so we didn't have to endure any rumors. My mother might not have been a happy woman – God knows my father took that from her – but for the first time since I had known her, she was content."

Harold paused. "Then one evening in early March, when I was about fourteen or so, there was a knock on the door. Uncle Jim and Aunt Mary were shopping in town and my mother had gone to bed early, so I got up to answer. It was my father. The son of a gun had found us. And he looked no different than any of the hobos that occasionally shambled through the area; you could smell the whiskey on him for miles.

"But I smiled like I was happy to see him, and gave him a big hug. When he asked for my mother, I told him she was out shopping. I also told my father he'd better not wait for her here, because Uncle Jim swore he'd shoot him if he ever stepped foot on his land – that part of the story was true. Then I told my father to go to the freight depot, and I'd be along with Mother as soon as we could get away."

Marian smiled slightly. "You were never planning to meet him, were you?"

Harold vehemently shook his head. "After several years of peace, there was no way I was going to let my father waltz back into our lives and wreck everything. My original plan was to wait until my uncle got home, tell him what happened and where my father had gone. I figured Uncle Jim would go down to the freight depot with his gun and give my father such a scare that he'd never come back – and my mother would never have been the wiser.

"But as it turned out, I never got to talk to Uncle Jim. Shortly after my father left, it started to snow. The weather soon got worse, until it was blizzard conditions – you couldn't see five feet in front of you. Uncle Jim and Aunt Mary were lucky they hadn't set out for home yet; they took refuge in town for the night. But my father… " He faltered.

"Yes?" Marian gently prompted.

Harold swallowed. "The next morning, they found him frozen to death, right outside the station building. He was a huddled mass – like he just couldn't take the cold anymore and hunkered down, to try to outlast the storm." He chuckled listlessly. "They figured he had just come in on the train, got disoriented in the storm and lost his way. Only I knew what direction he was really coming from; if he'd managed to make it about twenty more feet, he would have found shelter."

Marian put her hand to her mouth.

"Mother was heartbroken," he said sadly. "When Uncle Jim told her it was for the best, she said she never wanted to see him again – which was probably the harshest thing she ever said to anyone in her whole entire life. As soon as the snow thawed enough for the trains to get through, we packed and headed for California."

To Harold's surprise, Marian looked relieved, as if she had been expecting to hear worse. "Harold – what happened to your father was an accident. How could you have known he would get caught in a blizzard?"

He gave her a frank, direct look. "That may be true, but you know something? Even if I had known about the approaching blizzard, I wouldn't have done a single thing differently." Despite the unpleasant twinge in his gut, Harold meant to say these next words with conviction – she deserved to know how truly depraved he was – but as he spoke, his voice started to shake. "The way I figure, my father got exactly what he deserved."

Marian gazed wordlessly at him, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears.

"I've never told anyone this – not even Marcellus," Harold said, desperate to fill the awkward silence. "So… now you know what kind of man I truly am, Miss Marian."

She nodded. "Yes – a man who loved his mother so much, he was willing to do anything to protect her."

Harold was amazed that even now, Marian still saw something good in him. "I did make sure my mother never knew the true nature of my work, even when I was sending part of my ill-gotten gains home to her," he admitted. "When I later met and teamed up with Marcellus, he was tickled I did that; he said I had to be the only conman he ever heard of to share his earnings with his mother. I never felt guilty about sending her stolen money, either – I figured I was just giving her back what the world had taken from her."

The librarian blinked, and a few tears rolled down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry you had to go through all that."

Harold gave a bitter, barking laugh. "Well, I don't need anybody's pity, nor do I deserve it. After all, it's not like I turned out much better than my old man, did I? Any woman who trusts me does so at her own peril."

"Oh, Harold," Marian breathed. She came over to him and gently cupped his face in her hands. "I _do_ trust you."

He gazed sadly at her. "Marian – as much as I love you, I can't guarantee I won't break your heart."

"I know," she acknowledged. After shyly hesitating for just a moment, Marian leaned in and kissed him.

The librarian was as sweet and chaste on this occasion as she was at any other time, but Harold was thunderstruck. Not only did Marian still seem to love him just as dearly, she had initiated their embrace – something she had never done before. His hands sought her waist and he pulled her close, needing to feel her against him. But he did not intensify things any further than that; he let her have complete control of their kiss. When Marian's lips parted from his a few moments later, Harold respectfully moved away – but then she wrapped her arms around him and drew him back to her. With a sigh, he rested his head on her shoulder, and they stood in this quiet embrace for quite some time.

XXX

Later, when Harold walked Marian home, neither one of them said anything. It wasn't necessarily a comfortable silence, but it was deeper than he had ever shared with her, or anyone. He was startled to discover that he rather liked this feeling of knowing someone, and being known in return, and wanted to prolong it. When his eyes met Marian's, Harold was staggered by the love in the librarian's gaze. As he returned her fond look, Harold realized he was willing to do anything to build a life with her – even though he knew it meant he'd have to bare his soul, again and again.

When they got to the librarian's front porch, he spoke as if there had been no interruption to their conversation. "Marian… why would you take that risk?"

Her response was immediate. "For the same reason you stay in River City."

When Harold's eyes widened, Marian smiled and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. "Good night, my someone."

Instead of the usual desire to draw out their interaction for as long as he could, Harold felt a strange sense of contentment as he watched Marian go inside and close the door behind her. After a few moments, he turned and headed for home, a smile playing around the edges of his lips.

So, he had started to open up to her. And instead of driving her away, as he had initially feared, they had ended the evening with a greater sense of intimacy – much deeper than they had ever achieved, even during their most romantic trysts at the footbridge. Harold still wanted Marian as much as he ever did – the memory of her tender kiss and the warmth of her against him made his heart race – but somehow, he was just as affected by the interlude of tranquil silence that followed.

What had he been missing his old life for? There was no longer any charm in being a nomadic conman; such an existence seemed hollow and empty, now that he had discovered what real love was. All the heated embraces in the world couldn't compare to the wonderful sense of serenity and ease he was starting to feel in Marian's company. Harold had met a lot of women who loved him, but he had never once known a woman who also understood and accepted him, just as he was. He would be foolish to let the one who did get away.

Harold was finally ready to ask Marian that question, and he knew exactly how he wanted to do it. Halloween was approaching, and he had the most wonderful idea for a costume masque…


End file.
